Surviving Detroit
by Phx
Summary: Tag for 5.22. Dean tried. He really tried, but there are just some promises even he can't keep...
1. Chapter 1

**Tag for 5.22. Spoilers obviously. Unbeta'd. This is kinda rough around the edges but I really disliked the ending so I needed to fix it. I hope this helps.**

**Surviving Detroit**

_My brother is a good man. _

_Not perfect, but what other people would call character flaws, I consider his most endearing features._

_So as I stand here and watch him, my heart is conflicted._

_I want to go to him. To wipe the sorrow off his face that I see riding the smile he shadows at Lisa, but I can't…_

_I am afraid._

_I have no idea why I am here. _

_My last memory was of darkness, pain and blood. It is with cruel empathy I now understand my brother better as I have my own memories to expound on what I'd only guessed his time in hell was like._

_I was there._

_Then I was here. _

_Watching… _

_Silent as my own darkness, but I don't understand why. _

_And it is this uncertainty that scares me. _

_For him._

_I watch a little longer although it shreds at me, and I know the wetness on my face but refuse to wipe it away. _

_I relish tears and pain because I am happy for him. _

_He deserves so much more than me, and if this is all I can give him, I will._

_Until I understand what I am and what that will mean for us...to him... I will continue to watch._

_If he really needs me, I will be here._

* * *

_I have no idea what I am anymore but there is one thing I will always be. _

_His brother._

_And someday, that might just be enough._

* * *

**Four Months Later:**

The sound of low rumbling had Bobby Singer frowning. It had a familiar hitch in the engine that made his own stomach tighten and he was already hurrying from the back of the scrap yard towards the front of the house before the black beast slowed to a stop.

Puffing slightly from his run, Bobby rolled his eyes at the lop-sided grin that the younger man afforded him as Dean shoved open the heavy door and slowly pulled his six foot frame out of the car.

"Hey, Bobby," came the gruff greeting.

"Dean, boy, it's good to see ya," the old hunter made short work of the distance between them and grabbed Dean in a tight hug.

Dean returned the affection briefly before pulling away. A weary hazel gaze appraised Bobby and the older man frowned. "You okay?" It really was a stupid question; since Detroit neither of them had been okay but they pretended for Sam's sake. For Sam's _memory_.

"I could use a beer," Dean admitted, paused a moment then added, "and a place to stay… for a little while."

Bobby knew. And had actually been half expecting this. He knew Dean cared about this Lisa girl and her kid, but the apple pie life just wasn't meant for a Winchester. Especially not one with a half a soul still trapped in hell. "Aw, kid. You don't even need to ask. Grab your gear, I'll get the whiskey."

The flash of gratitude hurt. Dean should know better than that. He was family. And now they were all they had.

Leading the way back into the house, Bobby quickly pulled out a half drunk bottle of whiskey and two glasses as Dean put his duffle on the end of the couch and looked around the room. Of course the kid wouldn't want to stay in his usual room – his and Sam's usual room…

"I'll bring down some extra blankets in a bit," was all he said to acknowledge Dean's choice.

Dean gave him a brief nod. Scrubbed a hand across his tired looking face then joined Bobby at the table.

Both men drank quietly for a few moments. Neither needing to say anything to know what the other was thinking about but finally after about ten minutes, Dean spoke it out loud. "I want him back, Bobby. I _need_ him back."

"Dean," Bobby started although, for the life of him, he had no idea what he next he was going to say. Dean interrupted him and saved him the speech.

"There has to be some way. Something."

"Dean," the older hunter sighed out the name as he shook his head. "You know there ain't."

"Bobby…"

"Sam," Oh God help him but it hurt to say the name, "your brother, when you were hell, he tried… he looked. He tried everything. There's nothing, kid, nothing."

And Bobby had looked again too after Dean had left to go to Lisa's. He'd poured over every tome and text he could find, if for no other reason then to feel like he was doing something.

Sam had gone to hell to save the world. It only seemed the right thing to do.

Another round was poured. The afternoon was getting late.

"What about Crowley?" Dean suddenly asked.

The demon's name made Bobby flinch. He hadn't seen the creature since he found out how badly he'd been duped by it. Sure it got them Death's ring but it also neutered the Winchesters… Winchester... and Bobby hated that he was being used as leverage.

"What about him?" he couldn't keep the gruffness out of his voice.

"He might be able to help-"

"Dean…"

"He's the king of the crossroads-"

"You are not making any more deals!" Bobby shouted, his hands shaking as he stood up. "Haven't we learned our lessons about all that?" This had to stop.

Dean's jaw clicked shut, tight and angry. His face went stone cold.

Bobby sat back down; he took a deep breath and tried to keep himself calm. "Son, I know you're hurting but this ain't the way. No more deals, Dean. You promised Sam."

"I also promised him that I'd hook up with Lisa and look how well that turned out. Look, Bobby," Dean leaned across the table, his eyes wide and earnest. "I know Sammy was just trying to make sure I didn't do anything stupid… but he was wrong. He was wrong about what I needed. Yeah, Lisa and Ben are great, they are, but that's not me, man. White picket fence? Mini van? I tried. I did, really, and it helped. In a way… but he was wrong about that and he's wrong about this… I can't leave him there, Bobby. I can't."

Rubbing a hand against his jaw, Bobby exhaled loudly. His heart bled for these boys. They deserved better than this.

"If you don't want to help me. Fine," Dean pushed on. "But I am summoning Crowley and see if he knows a way to get Sam out of the cage."

"Without any deals?" Bobby added.

Something flashed briefly behind Dean's eyes and the older man got the impression that he was about to be lied to –

"Without any deals."

- and let it go. Sam don't own the market on Winchester stubbornness or determination. The only thing Bobby could hope, is that if he was with Dean, he could try to keep him from doing something too stupid.

"Fine, you stubborn s'nabitch, we'll summon Crowley."

And that called for a double shot of whiskey.

* * *

Crowley didn't look over pleased to see them.

"Geez, guys," he gave them a put out look. "I was in the middle of something important. He was build like a-"

"Yeah, well, sorry about that," Dean interrupted, anything but. "So let's keep it short and sweet then. How can I get Sam out of the hole?"

The demon looked at him, puzzled for a moment and then comprehension beetled his brow. "You mean the cage?"

"The cage. The pit. Hell, whatever. How do I get him out?" Dean was too tired for dicking around. The last four months had been long. Sure there were nice moments – he hadn't been lying when he said he cared about Lisa and Ben – but the majority had been hell. Just freakin', waking, breathing, talking, walking, hell.

Crowley looked at Bobby for a moment and then turned back to Dean. He cocked his head to the side and frowned. "You really don't know, do you?"

"Know?" Dean wasn't liking the sound of this. "Know what?"

"Sam. He's isn't in the pit anymore. An angel yanked him out months ago… although the rumor is, that it was God himself."

Dean stared at the demon. His heart started to pound, terrified to hope. "You're lying," he spat. There was no way. No way. He'd know. Sammy would have come to him–

And then Dean froze. His face paled. No, Sammy would not have. If he thought Dean was happy, Sam would have walked away. "Damn him," he muttered, turning away from Crowley, his hand going up to rub at his mouth.

Bobby was saying something but the words were muted as Dean just suddenly felt sick. His brother was alive. Sam was alive. Relief swept him and rounded on the demon. "Where is he?" he demanded. "Where is my brother?"

Crowley put up his hands in a defensive gesture as he backed up a step. "Look I dunno, okay? No one knows. He's in hiding or something. And proper thing too, I'd say." He admitted.

Dean's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean by that?"

"Oh c'mon, pretty boy," the demon scoffed making Dean's skin crawl. "Your boy took out our pitch hitter. Every demon and demon wannabe will be scouring topside looking for that kid. Lucifer wants Sam back, Dean. He wants your brother back in the pit, on the rack, and under his mercy... Of which there will be _none_."

"Just swell," Dean growled. "Freaking swell. Feels like old times already." He paced between Crowley and Bobby, trying to think where Sam might be. Dean had been able to find the kid after he got back from hell himself, but what were the chances Sam was carrying a cell phone this time? "Damn. Damn. Damn."

Crowley watched him for a few minutes and then offered. "I might have an idea."

Dean was on him in a second. "What?"

"Well, there is someone who would know where your brother is."

"You just said no one knows," Bobby cut in, his glance shifting from Dean to the demon.

"Technically he isn't really an _anyone_… but it is more kinda his job to know where everyone is at all times then anything else. 'Cause well, he's not exactly someone anyone can run from."

Dean made a grab for Crowley, pissed off with his games, but the demon quickly blinked away and was back on the other side of the room in a breath. "Damnit!"

"Now, now, Dean. Don't be like that or else I won't feel like sharing."

Dean forced himself to calm down. He grit his teeth. "Okay. Talk."

"Actually you know him." Before Dean could lunge again, the demon tossed out. "Death. The horseman, Death. He'll know where Sam is."

The hunter frowned and tipped his head at the thought. It made sense. There was no hiding from Death…

"Fair enough," Bobby spoke before Dean. "But do you think he's just going to tell us where Sam is?"

Crowley shrugged, his beady eyes on the younger hunter. "I dunno. But he likes Dean."

That made Dean scoff as he thought back to his conversation with the horseman. "I think 'like' is the wrong word."

"Hey," the demon argued. "You met him and survived. Hell, he even gave you his ring. I'd say that puts you in his fave five."

"But why would he just tell me where Sammy is?" Dean shook his head again. "The ring thing, I get. He wanted the devil gone but now – I got nothing he wants."

"And no more deals," Bobby interceded as if Dean had forgot that little addendum.

Dean glared at his old friend.

"It wouldn't hurt to ask," Crowley offered. "Worse he could do is kill you."

"Oh gee," Dean snorted. "That's positive."

"Up to you, Dean-O," the little man's tone was condescending. "You could just try to find your brother yourself. Not like he's been back for months and you didn't even know he was around… oh wait." He grinned and Dean resisted taking a swipe at him with Ruby's knife.

"Fine," Dean didn't like it but he wanted to find his brother more. "Do you know where we can find him?"

But Crowley was already gone.

* * *

Dean was tired and frustrated. The demon had disappeared hours earlier and they'd been unable to summon him back.

Bobby was researching and making calls in the kitchen, trying to find some way of finding Death (or Sam) as Dean tried to think of where his brother might go.

But he kept drawing blanks mostly because he had no idea what Sam's frame of mind was like. It was different before. Before Dean could guess based on whether or not Sam was angry, sad, grieving, drunk – but this time Dean had no idea what was going on in Sam's head. Was his brother even okay? From the sounds of it, Dean didn't think Sam had been in the pit for very long, but even a moment was too long.

He shivered as he tried not to think of how alone Sam must feel.

"Why?" he whispered under his breath. "Why didn't you come find me?"

Dean still had his cell, Sam could have called.

But deep down, he already knew the answer. Sam – stupid kid – thought Dean was better off. That he'd get past his grief and live that sweet life that Sam always wanted for his brother.

The thought twisted Dean's lips into a fond smile. "You stupid, stupid, kid," he breathed out softly. "When I find you, I am going to beat the living crap out of you for being so stupid… although then I suppose, I'll have to listen to you bitch and whine as I patch you right back up." God help him, but Dean couldn't wait.

And then Death suddenly appeared in the middle of Bobby's living room.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the wonderful response to this story. One more chapter to go after this one :) So I hope you continue to enjoy it.

**Surviving Detroit**

**Chapter 2**

Sam sat quietly on a small cot, a bowl of plain rice held gingerly between his shaking hands. He knew he should eat, he had to keep his strength up, but it was too hard to. Everything tasted like blood.

Demon blood.

No matter how much mouthwash he gargled or how long he scrubbed his teeth, everything still tasted like tainted copper.

And it was getting worse…

The room he was living in was small and bare; just a worn brown blanket and flat pillow for the bed, a cracked basin to wash in and a heavy ornate crucifix hanging over the bed completed the decor. The Impala was a luxury suite in comparison.

Sam glanced up at the cross. To be honest, the thing kinda freaked him out.

"Samuel," a man's voice, melodic and soft, spoke from outside the door. "You must eat."

"Yes, Brother," Sam answered respectfully and lifted a spoonful to his mouth. He waited until he heard the soft snicking of leather soles on stone moving away from his room, then let the spoon drop back down into the bowl with a sigh. His stomach growled but he just couldn't put the food in his mouth.

A monastery. Sam snorted softly at the irony. After everything that had happened in his life, he had ended up seeking refuge in a monastery. On holy ground.

He hadn't planned it this way.

When he'd found himself standing under that blown streetlamp, all Sam had wanted to do was see Dean. To make sure his brother was okay as his memories of Skull cemetery haunted him in a blur of a broken and battered Dean. His brother's words, "_it's okay, Sammy, I'm here. I'm not leaving you_," comfort from a dying man.

And everything after seeing Dean would depend on Dean.

But then he'd seen his brother, his _big brother_ – Dean's face unmarred and perfect – at a table surrounded by a beautiful woman and an obviously dotting kid and Sam couldn't find it in himself to take that away. And take it away, he knew his coming back would.

His heart had broken seeing the grief on his brother's face, _knowing_ with every fiber of his being how that felt, and _every_ part of him wanted to knock on that door and claim Dean as his own –

But he didn't.

He couldn't.

Not yet.

Sam had no idea why he had been brought back. Or even _who_ had done it.

His time in hell was vivid and painful… but then there was nothing else until he standing under that lamp.

There were so many questions and until he understood a bit more, he couldn't risk it.

_Jessica burned on the ceiling for him..._

He wouldn't risk Dean's happiness like that.

Sam had stood there for a long time just watching; feeling, for the first time ever, like a peeping tom on his brother's life. It had left a bitter taste in his mouth and a heaviness that weighed down his very soul, but he just wasn't sure about himself anymore.

His skin felt too tight, like he wasn't wearing it properly. Voices screeched at the back of his mind, sometimes muting out the sounds around him, as things flickered at the very edge of his vision. Then skittered away whenever he looked.

Confused and unsettled, he vowed to keep watch over Dean – to make sure his brother was going to be okay – but also to keep his distance as he tried to figure things out.

However, if Dean needed him, _truly_ needed him, Sam would be there.

And he did that for almost three months.

But as Dean seemed to settle more each day, Sam found himself slipping away, slowly losing his mind. He couldn't sleep, his dreams plagued with fire and brimstone. His days were no better as the voices screeching in his head droves spikes of agony through his mind that left him sobbing and incoherent at times, confined to holding up somewhere safe until the madness passed.

And then everything started to taste like blood...

Sam had known he was coming apart at the seams and needed help – and then somehow he had ended up here. At a monastery.

Like his resurrection from the pit, he remembered nothing except suddenly standing at the door, his fist having already knocked... And he was welcomed.

Inside the walls, he found sanctuary. His nights were dreamless, the hellish voices muted. He was given a small room and food. He attended the prayers and listened quietly to the lessons, all the while his heart, broken, his soul, heavy. He missed Dean.

But now he was afraid to leave.

And everything still tasted like blood.

Another soft knock on his door had Sam sighing wearily. His nights might be dreamless but he still wasn't sleeping well. "Yes?"

A dark haired head poked in around the door. Sam recognized the amicable little monk as Brother Greggor. "I hope I am not disturbing you, Samuel."

Sam had tried to get them to call him 'Sam' but they refused, claiming his name was a fine Christian name and would be treated as such.

"It's okay, Brother. Is there something you need?"

Accepting that as an invitation, the monk stepped into the small room, a steaming mug held tightly in his hands. He glanced at the uneaten rice in the bowl Sam was still holding, his face crinkling in concern. "Your hands are shaking."

Sam glanced down and grimaced but before he could say anything the monk held out the mug. "Here, drink. Brother Fastius has been worried about you and asked me to bring up this broth."

"I'm okay," Sam denied, the idea of trying to drink something less palatable then eating.

"Please, Samuel, we are worried about you. You don't eat, you hardly sleep – please, for His grace and our minds, try this. I promise it will help." The bowl was taken from his hands and the warm mug pressed in before Sam could protest.

The smell of something spicy wrinkled his nose and Sam's stomach growled again. He gazed down at the liquid and up at the hopeful look on the monk's face. The brothers had been nothing but good to him so with a tentative smile, he steeled his resolve and took a sip –

And blinked in surprise. It tasted warm and spicy. Not like blood.

Staring into the mug, Sam took a deeper sip. Still no blood. It went down warm and soothing.

"It's good?" Greggor asked, tipping his head and smiling in a knowing way.

Sam dared stop drinking long enough to give the man a nod. "Yeah," he managed, a small smile lighting his face. "Very good. Thank you."

The monk continued to watch as Sam drained the drink and then took the mug from him. He expected the man to leave then but Brother Greggor didn't. Instead he kept watching Sam, like he was waiting for something – and that was when Sam knew something was wrong.

A feeling of lassitude swept over him, weighing down his body and slowing down his mind. _Drugged_, he realized belatedly even as he blinked hard and tried to get up, he'd been drugged.

"Don't thank me, yet," the monk smirked as his eyes turned black, _"Sammy_."

Sam's last thought before he lost consciousness was, _Meg._

And he would have been right.

* * *

"Your brother is a very special man," Elder Élan, the grey bearded head of the monastery informed Dean as he gazed down at the picture of Sam Dean had given to him when he asked if Sam was here.

Death had said Sam was here but until Dean saw him with his own eyes, he was only barely daring to hope. His heart couldn't take losing his brother in any other ways.

Why Sam would have come here burned at the back of his mind as Dean focused on what the monk was saying. Bobby, standing beside him, frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean," the Elder's eyes pierced through them as he looked first at the scrap-hauler and then focused on Dean. "His coming was foretold."

Dean wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. "Foretold? In what way?"

The religious man gave him back the picture. "In my dreams… For days before he showed up on our doorstep, I dreamt of him. I didn't know who he was at the time, but every night, for three nights, I saw him, standing in a ring of fire, holding a tiger by its tail. So when Samuel showed up in the middle of the night like a wraith on the wind, I understood that he had been sent here."

"Sent here for what?" Dean couldn't help the growl that crept in his voice. He didn't like the implication that his brother was being messed around with again by Heaven or Hell.

The monk gave him a confused look. Like the answer should have been the most obvious thing. "For healing of course."

"Healing? Is Sam hurt?" Fear threaded Dean's veins. He couldn't lose his brother again, not after just finding out he was alive.

"Physically? No," the monk assured him. "But emotionally? Spiritually? He is a broken man. He doesn't eat, barely sleeps, it is like watching him waste away."

Dean swallowed hard but, at the same time, it gave him hope as the same could have been said about him. But he was slowly gaining ground again and he'd damn well make sure the same could be said about Sam in time.

"Does everyone else here know about your dreams?" Bobby demanded. "About Sam?"

Élan shook his head. "No." He assured them. "That would have served no purpose. I was merely shown to open my door to him. Why it was so important? I do not know. Only time will tell."

"This is all nice and stuff," Dean hated to sound rude, especially since this man had been there for his brother, but he was beyond desperate to see Sam. The idea that Sam was in this building, separated from him by plaster and stone shredded Dean's last thread of patience. "But can I see Sam now? I'd really like to see my brother."

"Of course," the monk tipped his head graciously, and then stood. "Let me show you the way."

Dean and Bobby followed Elder Élan through a maze of floors and hallways until they came to a closed door at the end of a hall. He indicated the door, then gave them a supportive smile and left them standing there.

"Dean?" Bobby's eyes tracked to the door then back. "I-I'll just wait out here."

He knew the other hunter was anxious to see Sam as well but loved the man for understanding that Dean needed to see his brother first. They needed this time.

"Thanks, Bobby," he said nervously, and then lifted his hand to knock.

* * *

Whatever Meg had given Sam was kick-ass powerful and when Sam finally regained consciousness he had no idea how long he'd been out. Only that he was bound, hand and foot to the bed (his, he was assuming), gagged and blind-folded and that she was still here.

"You know you've really gone and done it this time," still wearing poor Brother Greggor, the demon snorted angrily. "Do you have any idea just how much hard work and effort we put into all this? And you go and just fuck it all up by not playing along?"

Sam heard her pacing next to the bed as he struggled to get free or loosen the gag and blindfold. She was obviously afraid he'd still be able to exorcise her if he could see her. Ironically enough, Sam himself wasn't sure.

"Ooh, Sammy boy, let me just say Lucifer is awfully anxious to get you back in the play zone-"

Terror sizzled through Sam and he struggled harder as memories of hell seared the fear through his bones.

"- and I'm the bitch that is going to deliver. Hell, I might even stick around to watch! That's how pissed off at you I am!"

Sam got the impression she was just warming up when there was suddenly a loud knock at the door.

And then a voice stole through the cracks in the wood and Sam almost sobbed in relief.

"_Sam? Sammy? You in there? It's me… Dean…"_

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

_I am so sorry for the delay. I wanted this posted last night but then we had a massive power outage. I also apologize because I said this would be the last chapter, but the chapter got so long I'm breaking it in two. So the fourth and final chapter will be posted sometime this weekend as I am still tweaking. This is unbeta'd so please excuse the mistakes. And thank you Trasan for your input!_

**Surviving Detroit**

**Chapter 3**

Dean's heart was pounding, his hands shaking as he knocked on the wooden door. "Sam? Sammy? it's me… Dean." He waited then glanced at Bobby, icy cold slithering down his spine at the eerie quiet. He lifted his hand to knock again, wondering if the monk had been wrong about Sam being in this room… but then stopped, his fist a breath away from the door.

"What's wrong?" Bobby started to ask but Dean held up his other hand to quiet him; something was off. Didn't feel right.

It wasn't anything he could put his finger on, but –

His fist dropped, slipped around his lower back to curl around the handle of Ruby's knife. He slowly pulled it out, fully focused on the door in front of him. He listened hard.

There!

Something.

A soft thud.

But enough.

He knew, as certain as his own name, that his brother was in that room… and that Sam was not alone.

And then the door was yanked open and Dean found himself face to face with another monk.

A monk with black eyes!

"Well, Dean-O," the demon smirked at him, then glanced past him at Bobby. "Bobby. Looks like the whole gang's here. Come on in, boys, Sam's mighty anxious to see ya!"

Horror stuttered his breathing. Meg was here. With Sam.

Swallowing hard, Dean stepped inside the small room.

And then he saw his brother, tied to a bed, blind-folded, gagged and his horror was replaced with fury. This bitch was going down.

* * *

Meg was fuming. This should have been a simple in and out. Dean and Bobby being here was definitely going to complicate things, thanks to the pretty little knife she could see griped in a furious looking Dean's hand.

She'd actually been watching Sam since he was yanked out of hell. Waiting until she was certain she could take him out, unsure of just how powerful he might still be.

It had been an amusing vigil, seeing the pathetic way Sam hung around that house, skulking in the shadows, watching Dean and his replacement family. The despair and longing that rolled off Sam made her start to consider this mission a mercy killing.

The vestiges of hell that clung to the young man encouraged her patience. Knowing it was his 'shining' that made him susceptible to their continued influence; the lingering remnants of Azazel's taint and the demon blood kept him cloyed in torment, a tangible reminder that Sam Winchester was still dangerous.

But the reward? The satisfaction of getting to watch Lucifer peel the flesh from his body? That drove her determination. For that, Meg would drag Sam back to hell, personally.

Big brother and gruff buddy Bobby might complicate things, but they were not going to stop her. Sam was supposed to be in hell, and hell was where he'd be going, but why not have a little fun first?

"I really wish you hadn't come here," Meg put as much remorse into her voice as possible. "This isn't what it looks like." She loved how Dean fought to pull his gaze away from his trussed up brother to look at her. Ooh and the anguish she could see on his face. And then it was gone. Brief and fleeting, schooled behind a perfect Winchester mask.

Yup, this was going to be lots of fun.

"Oh, really?" Dean snarked, ever the wise-ass. "And what does it look like?"

"Like I have your baby brother tied down to a bed. And not for a night of the usual fun." She missed the good old days of being a blond bimbo; the monk-ey suit was making it harder to flirt.

"Okay then, I'd have to say that's exactly what it looks like."

Meg loved the way Dean growled as his fingers flexed on the handle of the knife. She knew the only reason he hadn't lunged at her yet was because she was currently twining her fingers in Sammy's hair. They both knew Sam'd be dead before Dean could make even halfway across the small room. Sam tried to yank his head away but she just gripped him more tightly.

Behind Dean, Bobby glowered at her.

Time to ramp up the joy.

"This isn't your brother," she threw it out there. "It's a demon." Dean glanced down at Sam briefly, then back up at her. She wanted to smirk at the shadow of doubt she saw on his face. This was too easy.

"A demon?" the muscle in Dean's jaw clenched. "This how you treat all your kin?"

Sam struggled on the bed again. She tightened her grip and he stopped with a muffled whimper. Poor baby, did she actually tear hair this time?

She chuckled. "Oh, honey, he isn't anything like me…" She paused for dramatic effect and enjoyed the way Dean tried to keep his eyes on her but they kept returning to his trapped brother. "This isn't your brother anymore, Dean. Sam Winchester is dead… This," she gave Sam's head a cruel shake, "is a monster. An abomination, that even hell didn't want."

Meg could smell the sweat of Sam's tears as they dampened the blind fold. Poor kid was shaking as they both knew that big brother was buying this, hook, line and sinker.

Of course once this was all over and she'd killed Sammy, she'd let Dean know it was the real Sam all along. Oh, it was so much fun being her.

_

* * *

_

No,

Sam was trembling as Meg claimed he was a demon,_ no!_

_Demons lie_, he told himself,_ they lie… but sometimes they tell the truth_…

Bucking against Meg's painful grip, Sam needed to let Dean know that, no matter what else he was now, Sam_ was_ still Sam. He was still Dean's brother.

He felt the blindfold loosen as she yanked hard on his hair and he stilled, an unbidden whimper gasping into the gag. Then as the demon continued to taunt Dean, Sam moved his head slightly from side to side, further working the restraint down.

Just a bit more and then he could see -

And the first thing he saw was Dean.

_His brother_. His big brother; standing at the foot of the bed, glaring at Meg, then looking at him.

But Dean didn't_ see_ Sam, the older man's gaze was fleeting as it skittered down Sam's long body then back to Meg, not looking at Sam's face.

_Dean…_

Hot tears of frustration and despair burned Sam's skin, soaking the displaced blindfold as Meg's words about him being an abomination struck close to home.

_No, Dean_, he tried to scream._ Please… don't believe her!_

Then Dean started to laugh.

* * *

"Oh, that's a good one," Dean chuckled coldly. "An abomination, huh? Something even hell doesn't want? If that's so, than what are you doing here? You're a demon, Meg, not a bounty hunter." His eyes narrowed as he focused all his attention on her. "No way… Taking the time to truss a guy up? That's personal. Blindfold? Gag? You're afraid of him." He paused, squaring his shoulders and hardening his glare. "This ain't no demon, Meg. This is Sam. My brother."

"And if you're wrong?" the demon challenged.

"And if we're wrong," Bobby spoke up, his voice bolstering Dean's conviction. "We'll take care of it. Our way."

A slight groan was the only warning they got when,_ suddenly_, the heavy wooden cross hanging over Sam's bed fell forward, hitting Meg across the back and knocking her to ground under its sheer weight.

Dean lunged, Ruby's knife flashing, burying it deep in the demon's back.

Noise. Light. The smell of sulfur, then Meg was gone.

Finally.

It was over.

A soft moan twisted Dean's attention back to the bed. Blood leaked from Sam's nose as he harshly panted beneath the gag._ No,_ Dean corrected as he moved towards his brother._ Not over. Just beginning_

Dean's hands were shaking as he carefully undid the knot on the gag, then finished sliding the blindfold down. Sam's eyes were closed and as they slowly opened, Dean found himself holding his breath and chanting _pleasedon'tbeblackpleasedon'tbeblack._

Then hazel, bloodshot but clear, were gazing up at him and Dean felt like he could finally breathe again. "Sammy?" hopefulness cracked his voice but he didn't care. His brother had been dead, had fallen into hell-

A small smile curled the edges of Sam's mouth, his eyes shone.  
Behind them Bobby coughed softly and said something about getting the Elder.

Dean vaguely noticed him leaving the room.

"Dean," Sam finally said, the name a soft sigh that had them both grinning. Then Sam winced as his tried to move.

"Oh shit, sorry!" Dean quickly fumbled to get the rest of the ropes untied. His face darkened when he saw the angry rope burns on his brother's wrists as he got the first, then second one untied. Death was too easy for that bitch. "You know, this is awfully crappy of you," he spoke as he worked. "Here I was planning on beating the crap out of you as soon as I found you, _then_ nursing you back to health, but seems like I gotta do the nursing first!" He meant it as a joke as he loosened the knots on his brother's ankles, but the way that Sam stiffened on the bed told him that maybe things were a bit too raw yet for joking.

Sam worked his jaw for a moment then managed, "I'm so sorry..." He pushed himself up on his elbows.

Dean paused in his task, the last knot almost undone and had to ask. He needed to know. "Why, Sammy? Why didn't you find me? You could have called." The accusation was clear. It hurt.

"I did find you," Sam leaned down and pulled the last knot loose himself, then carefully sat up, his long legs swinging over the bed. "But..."

Dean waited a moment, when his brother didn't continue, he straighted up and asked. "But what?"

"But, oh man, Dean," Sam shook his head and snorted, his eyes down on his hands. "It all sounds so lame now. I was stupid... I thought you'd be better off, you know? I had no idea how I even got out of hell. It was like one moment - there," he swallowed hard at the memories, "the next outside Lisa's house watching you."

The muscle in Dean's jaw worked and he nodded for Sam to continue when Sam looked up at him.

"I still don't know how I got back... or why and I was afraid-" he snorted bitterly. "It doesn't matter what I was afraid of, I just - I thought it'd be better this way. For a little while anyway."

Dean was silent as he listened to his brother. Hurt and anger warred with compassion. He sorta understood though and wondered what he would have done if things had been different.

"And I just didn't want to see anyone else get hurt," Sam added quietly. "Least of all you, or Lisa or Ben."

"What about you?" he asked his little brother.

"What about me?" Sam looked at him in confusion.

"I didn't want to see you get hurt either," Dean glanced away, blinking  
quickly. "It killed me thinking you were in hell. Every day, Sammy, every day."

"I know," Sam was back to watching his hands. They trembled where they lay folded in his lap. "I'm sorry, Dean. I don't know what else to say."

"How about you don't ever do that again? Either of it – the dying or the hiding from me?" Dean offered, too relieved to have Sam back to stay angry over this.

Sam looked up so quickly, the grateful hopefulness on his face was almost painful to see. It reminded Dean of a young Sammy who'd just been given another chance when he was sure he'd done something to make his big brother hate him forever. _Yeah,_ thought Dean quietly, _like that would ever happen._

"Dean," he started to say something, probably about not having control over the dying part, but then clamped his jaw shut and gave a curt nod instead.

It wasn't everything… but for them? It was enough.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank you again for your wonderful response to this story. It is done now and I will warn, this is just a fluffy chapter. I wanted comfort so here it is. I hope you like it. Again, unbeta'd so please excuse the mistakes._

**Surviving Detroit**

**Chapter 4**

Dean leaned against the opposite wall, folded his arms and watched his brother. "So what happened?" He finally asked, his attention flickering to the cross on the floor. The poor dead monk was still pinned beneath it.

Sam shook his head gingerly, in deference to its pounding. Bobby hadn't come back yet and Sam wasn't sure where the man had gone. He hadn't even noticed Bobby leaving. "I… don't know," he admitted slowly.

His brother's gaze searched his own but Sam was hiding nothing. He didn't know why the cross fell. Yes, his head was hurting, his nose bleeding, but he didn't feel anything like the psychic surge - the punch - he'd felt the only other time he'd used telekinesis. He reached up and dabbed at his nose, wiping the blood away with his hand. "Was... was it me?" he hated the tremor in his voice and lifted a shaky hand to shove at a shock of hair that fell in his face. It terrified him to think it might have been.

Dean's eyes softened at the tone. "I was kinda hoping you could tell me."

Tears welled again, bitter and salty, and Sam snorted. "Guess it depends on what I am, now doesn't it?"

"Sam-"

Agitated, Sam stood, then leaned heavily against the wall when the room spun. Dean had his arm and was pushing his back down on the bed before his legs gave out.

"Hey, hey," Dean crouched down next to him now. "Take it easy."

"I'm okay," Sam lied as he lay on the bed and closed his eyes to wait out the wave of dizziness. It could have been a lingering effect of whatever Meg dosed him with... but since he hadn't been able to eat much in a couple of days, it could have been that as well.

"Yeah, well, we really have to work on your definition of that word," his brother grumbled but there was no heat in the tone. "You are anything but fine. Me now? That's a totally other conversation."

Sam gave him a moot look then groaned softly and shut his eyes again. Maybe it had been him…

"Hey, uh, Sam, I hate to come off as the insensitive jerk in the bunch and all, but I was hoping we could just grab your stuff and hi-tail it out of here – like now – before the Elder calls the cops. I'm not sure what story Bobby's going to spin him but… well, you know…"

Fear coiled in Sam's stomach and his eyes flew open. _Leave?_

"We could probably just say the cross fell off the wall and hit him – which _is_ really the truth – but the stab wound's going to be a bitch to explain." Dean continued then crouched down by the cross. "Does this thing have any pointy edges?"

Carefully sitting back up, Sam stared at Dean helplessly. "I… I can't."

"You can't what?" Dean looked up at his brother in confusion then straightened back up.

"I can't leave."

Dean frowned. "What?"

"You heard me," Sam admonished as he stood, adrenaline keeping him on his feet. "I can't leave the monastery."

"Oh and why not?" Dean's patience was thread thin. Sam knew his brother well enough to know the man wanted to grab him and just get the hell out of here.

"Because," Sam was agitated now, angry at himself as the idea of leaving terrified him. "I just can't."

"Sam. That's not a reason, now I think I deserve-"

"I'm going fucking nuts okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Dean frowned, "You're not crazy."

"You have no idea," Sam turned his back on Dean, his head bowed, his hands on his hips. "The things I hear in my head. The screaming – sometimes it's so loud… it hurts so bad I just want to blow my own freaking head off. And the blood-" He stopped.

"The blood?" His brother pressed, wariness creeping into his tone. "What about the blood?"

Sam whirled around, a storm of emotions bleaching his face as he stared at Dean, silently pleading for his big brother to make things better. "Everything I eat… tastes like blood."

"That why you're not eating?"

Sam was surprised Dean knew but then scoffed at himself. Of course Dean knew. Nodding Sam exhaled loudly and sat back down heavily on the bed before his legs gave out again. "Yeah," he admitted and glanced around the room, "but things are better here… At least I can sleep – sorta – and the voices aren't so loud."

"But you can still hear them?" Dean asked, taking a seat next to his brother, close enough that their thighs just brushed. Support without crowding. "And you're still not sleeping well… or eating?"

"Yeah," Sam agreed with a weak smile. "But I haven't felt the urge to eat lead in weeks. So that's something, right?"

* * *

Dean didn't find it funny. Instead he frowned worriedly and stared at the bare and bleak walls in this little room, trying to imagine living here. He couldn't. "So you traded one kinda prison for another, huh?"

Sam shrugged. "I guess. But at least the prayer groups here don't try to flay you."

Paling, Dean didn't say anything for a few minutes, just thinking about what his brother said, and about what his strong and courageous little brother's life had been reduced to. Not that living in a monastery was the worse thing in the world, no, Dean knew better, but he also knew it wasn't what Sam wanted and that made all the difference.

"Sammy you can't stay here."

Sam just looked at him and Dean corrected himself. "_I_ can't leave you here."

"Dean-"

"No, listen to me for a sec, okay?" Dean turned towards his brother. "I don't know what's going on with you, I'll admit that, but I don't believe for a second that you were brought back to live out your life here. I also don't believe that this isn't something we can't get beat… If there's one thing we've learned in all this, it's that you were right years ago when you told Dad that we are stronger together, as a family. Because, bro, we are. So come with me – come _home_ and give me a chance to help you." Dean's eyes bored into Sam pleading with his brother to believe in Dean with the same kind of faith that had helped save them from Michael. "Please Sammy… I really want my brother back."

Tears ran unchecked down Sam's face. Dean could see his brother was torn and hurting. Struggling. And Dean responded. Tugging on Sam's arm, he pulled the kid into a tight hug. "It'll be okay," he promised wrapping his other arm around the broad back and holding on. Sam returned the embrace just as fervently, burying his face against Dean's shoulder. "We'll make it okay, little brother. I promise."

After a moment, he felt Sam nod his head, his muffled, "'kay," more than enough and then Sam sighed and pulled away.

"Okay," he repeated.

"If it gets too much, I'll bring you back," Dean searched his brother's face. "And we'll figure something else out."

Scrubbing a hand across his face, Sam let out a shaky breath. "We can leave… whenever."

Relieved, Dean gave a big smile and stood up, "All righty then," he glanced around the little room. "You got a bag for your stuff?"

"I don't have much, just a couple of shirts and another pair of pants. Not really mine though. We can leave them here." Sam admitted. "The Brothers gave 'em to me anyway." He stood up and started towards the door. "Let's just go."

Dean followed, not liking how much effort it seemed to take Sam to move. He needed to get something into the kid and soon before Sam did a nosedive. And that would bring them to their first obstacle. Getting Sam to eat.

The idea that everything his brother tried to eat tasted like blood bothered Dean and he wasn't sure if it was psychosomatic or a symptom of yet another problem that they were, as of yet, unaware.

_Oh well,_ he thought as they made it out of the maze of corridors and towards the main door of the building, _at least I still have his bag in the car. _Nothing in Dean would let him throw his brother's things away. It had been the only thing left to show the world that Sam Winchester had been here. That Dean had had a brother. He glanced across at Sam, that he still had a brother.

Sam was quiet and stared to slow down the closer they got to the exit. Touching his brother's arm when Sam actually did stop, Dean tacitly offered his support and encouragement, relieved when the younger man started to walk again. He noticed how nervous Sam was and saw the deep breath the kid took in as he stepped outside, but Dean never said anything.

This was something Sam had to do for himself. All Dean could do was remind Sam, by being here, that he wasn't doing this alone anymore. Neither of them were.

Outside, Sam stopped and turned around to look back at the monastery. He was frowning.

"Everything okay?" Dean asked a bit nervously.

Tilting his head to one side as he continued to stare at the big stone building, Sam didn't answer at first. Then he shook his head, turned around and started walking again. "I don't know," was all he said.

"How's Lisa?" Sam suddenly asked when they crossed the quiet road to where Dean had left the Impala. Bobby's truck was gone and Dean knew they'd meet up again at the motel.

"Lisa?" Dean grimaced. "Ah, yeah, well… that didn't exactly work out."

Sam paused, reaching for the handle on the passenger side of the car. His face softened. "I'm sorry," he offered.

The genuine remorse in his brother's voice made something inside Dean ache. "Yeah, me too." He admitted as he walked around to his own side of the car and got in. Dean glanced to the right and watched, his eyes unexpectedly burning as Sam slid into the passenger seat.

"What?" Sam asked, self-consciously glancing around as Dean continued to look at him.

Swallowing hard, Dean forced his attention out the front and cleared his throat. "Nothing," he denied then paused and added. "Just… it's good to have you back again. That's all."

"Dean," the compassion in Sam's voice had Dean blinking furiously. _Big grownup hunter's didn't cry like babies, _he told himself.

"Sam," he countered whatever sappy thing his brother was going to say. "I'm hungry, let's go."

* * *

Sam knew what Dean was feeling because he felt it too. God, he never thought he'd ever sit in this car again. With his brother. And yet, here he was. And, damn it all, it felt _right_.

More than that; for the first time in a long time,_ Sam_ felt right.

He closed his eyes and settled back against the seat – _his_ seat, _his_ place – as the familiar rumble of the powerful engine soothed his jagged nerves and calmed his beleaguered mind.

The voices that had tormented were quiet.

The unease and fear that had riddled him, waylaid.

And when Dean shoved a cassette into the player and Metallica strummed out of the speakers, Sam smiled. He was home.

**

* * *

**

Epilogue:

Bobby wasn't at the motel when they boys got there. He'd left a note at the front desk telling them to '_get your asses back to Sioux Falls'_. So they did.

And he was in standing in the front yard when the Impala grumbled in, pulling Sam into a tight hug as soon as the younger man was out of the car.

"Damnit, boy, it's good to see ya," he hissed into Sam's shoulder before letting go.

Sam smiled wide, his dimples showing as he stepped back but didn't say anything.

"I hope you got food," Dean said by way of greeting, "I'm starved."

Bobby glowered at him then glanced questioningly at Sam, "What about you?" he asked knowing that Sam was still having some issues eating. Apparently things had gotten a bit better since their reunion though, as, according to Dean's call a couple of hours ago, Sam had actually been able to eat a whole bowl of vegetable soup.

Sam shrugged, his face guarded. "I could eat."

"Well good," Bobby nodded, pleased, that was a start. ""Cause I got tuna casserole." He'd purposefully stayed away from cooking anything with red meat.

Dean's eyes lit up. He loved tuna casserole and he was already rubbing his hands as he made his way towards the house. "Here fishy, fishy, fishy," he chanted making both Bobby and Sam grin as they followed.

Bobby cast a glance up at the younger man as Dean went inside and was probably halfway to the stove already. "So, how you doing, kid?"

Sam stopped at the door and looked at Bobby. He seemed to give the question some serious thought before answering. He nodded his head slowly as if it had only just occurred to him. "Good, Bobby. I'm doing good."

The old salvager felt something settle and he let out a relieved sigh and clasped Sam lightly on the back. "That's damn good to hear, Sam. Damn good. Now let's get in there before that brother of yours inhales the whole damn thing."

"He did just eat, an hour ago," Sam mused as he held open the door for Bobby.

Bobby fixed him with a scathing look. "Yeah, and?"

"Yeah, and…" Sam started to laugh – honest to goodness mirth – and Bobby found himself laughing with him. "Okay. I see your point."

From the kitchen, Dean yelled, "HEY!" and for the first time since Sam died in Cold Oak and Dean sold his soul, Bobby finally felt like things were going to be okay.

His boys, borrowed from John Winchester as they may be, were home…

Safe.

Maybe not totally sound…

But together.

And at the end of the day, at the end of the story, that was all that really mattered.

The End


End file.
